Reflections
by tr0ublex
Summary: I'm almost there. Not quite. But almost. Just a few more pounds. That's all. And then I'll be perfect. Blair-centric.


**A/N: I'm back! I've decided to go in a different direction with my writing. I will not be deleting stories, though I will not be continuing them unless I give a notice. I'm sorry for letting some of you down but I don't have the motivation to write Hannah Montana fanfics any more and from now on, I am going to be writing for myself with the hopes of inspiring or helping someone. Thank you to every one of you who have taken the time to read my stories and review!**

**Pay attention to the dates and times.**

**This story is before Gossip Girl started (tv show). It is Blair-centric. **

Disclaimer: I do not own Gossip Girl (though I'd love to). All rights go to their owners.

Reflections

_November 3, 2005 6:53AM_

I run the brush through my hair. I take my time today, allowing the bristles to comb their way through each curl, noticing the way the light shines against the mahogany.

It's raining outside, drizzling and soaking the Manhattan concrete with the musky scent of cold water meeting hot ground. The skies are no longer blue but, pardon my cliché; I am.

I don't feel like seeing Serena today.

I don't feel like laughing at the insults Annabelle throws at students from Brooklyn.

I don't feel like telling Georgina to get lost.

I don't feel like going on coffee runs.

I don't feel like rolling my eyes at Chuck's perverted innuendos.

I don't feel like tolerating the smell of smoked joints when Nate hugs me.

I don't feel like praising my mother's new designs.

I don't feel like practicing my French with Daddy.

I don't feel like watching Tiffany's with Dorota.

I don't feel like anything.

I _especially _don't feel like a yogurt parfait.

_November 26, 2005 7:03PM_

I wait patiently at the table, watching Nate set the cutlery and talk business with my father. Mother is somewhere in her office, yelling at employees on the phone. Serena is in my room, probably rolling around on the bed and throwing up everything in her stomach. Dorota is scrambling around the kitchen and mumbling to herself in Polish. Caterers rush around, pushing carts and holding trays of champagne.

People start to pile in, and the elevator dings a million times. But I just sit here.

A man greets me and I smile. I ask him how he is. My father escorts him into the living room to talk.

Nate goes upstairs to check on Serena.

My mother finally comes into the main room and offers guests champagne.

I am almost invisible.

"Waldorf."

But not quite.

"Bass," I say. I don't dare look him in the eyes.

"Why aren't you entertaining yours guests? Has Eleanor not taught you manners?"

I roll my eyes. "Go away."

He is silent for a moment. I feel his eyes searching my face.

"No."

We sit in silence until the guests fill the table, piling their plates with gourmet food and drinking bottomless glasses of alcohol.

Nate looks at me and I smile. That's enough for him, and he continues his conversation with the Captain.

Chuck, however, does not even look at me. Instead, he cuts a slice of turkey and plops it on my china plate, spooning cranberry sauce over top and garnishing the side with stuffing.

He gives me a pointed look. I slowly cut a corner of the meat and slip it into my mouth. I chew carefully, my eyes glued to the ivory table cloth.

He watches me the whole time.

When my plate is empty, he cuts me another slice and even has the guts to order a shrimp cocktail for me.

Motherchucker.

_November 26, 2005 8:47PM_

There are still guests downstairs, talking with my parents and mingling with each other. Chuck and Nate are on the balcony in my bedroom, smoking whatever drug Chuck had imported. Serena is drooling on my pillow.

I'm sitting beside a porcelain toilet bowl.

Before I know it, I am sliding a finger to the back of my throat. I lean over the toilet and gag, emptying all of tonight's calories into the bowl.

The tap is running beside me.

I smile without emotion and flush the toilet.

I rinse my mouth out with water. The acid burns my throat.

I find myself in the mirror.

Doe eyes stare back at me.

They are empty.

Lipstick-smeared lips tremble.

They are satisfied.

Pale cheeks are streaked with tears.

And I realize.

I realize that I do not want to feel.

Do not want to move.

Do not want to cry.

Not if this is what it takes.

What it takes to be pretty.

Even half as pretty as those girls.

Half as appealing.

Half as perfect.

Half as skinny.

I wash my face and brush my teeth and reapply my makeup. I smile. I readjust my clothes.

I walk out of the bathroom and bang into someone.

Cold brown eyes look down at me. Hair falls just above them. My fingers come in contact with silky material. A patterned scarf.

His mouth is in a hard line. He looks at the bathroom and back at me.

And I know.

I know that he knows.

He knows that I know.

_December 24, 2005 1:16AM_

No one in the house is awake.

I lie in bed.

Bodies surround me.

Chuck, Serena, me, and Nate.

In that order.

I stare at the white ceiling and think.

My stomach growls.

My head pounds.

Goosebumps grace my skin.

A hand makes its way across the pillow and clasps over mine.

I squeeze it gently. It's warm. Pulsing with blood within. Trying to comfort me.

And for a moment I forget.

I forget what it's like to feel lost.

What it's like to be alone.

What it's like to feel useless.

Worthless.

Insecure.

Ugly.

_Fat. _

_February 19, 2006 2:52PM_

I check under the pink stalls. No shoes. I go into a stall and lock the door, kneeling on the floor. I repeat the routine I've grown so fond of. I flush the toilet, satisfied. I go over to the sink and wash my hands.

I examine myself in the glass.

My cheeks are too puffy.

My chin is too big.

My neck is too bulky.

My collarbones are not defined enough.

My stomach sticks out in this blouse.

My skirt feels tight.

My thighs feel big.

My calves look chunky.

But I can't break down.

No.

Not here.

Not now.

Not again.

_March 4, 2006 8:37PM_

I finish being sick. I sit back against the cold tiled wall and I let my eyes wander.

My head is spinning some.

My legs are shaky.

But I find myself in the mirror like so many times before.

I'm almost there.

Not quite.

But almost.

Just a few more pounds.

That's all.

And then I'll be perfect.

Skinny.

Beautiful.

And maybe Nate will look at me more.

Maybe he'll want to kiss me more, want to stay around me more.

Maybe he'll finally stop looking at her.

And look at me.

Maybe.

_April 19, 2006 4:39PM_

I can't breathe.

I can't see.

I can't move.

I can't feel.

I can't speak.

_April 19, 2006 5:02PM_

"Miss Blair!" I hear Dorota call.

I open my mouth to answer.

But I can't.

"Miss Blair, open up door or I call Miss Eleanor!"

"Blair? Blair! Open the door!"

"Wait – I have key!" The sound of the doorknob clicked.

The door swings open and though I am slowly slipping into unconsciousness I can hear my mother's screams.

But I am perfect.

I am beautiful.

I am skinny.

_April 21, 2006 3:34PM_

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

BeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeepBeep.

I am gasping for air and my eyes open.

I am surrounded by unfamiliar walls.

I can't breathe with this tube in my throat.

I am trapped.

"Blair!" My father says. His eyes are bloodshot. He grabs my hand.

I just stare at him, eyes wide.

"Baby, oh Blair!" Mom cries. She's frantic as she rushes towards me.

But I don't speak.

Daddy looks me in the eye. "Eat something, Blair Bear."

I say nothing.

"For heaven's sake, Blair, _eat your damn food_!" Mom yells at me.

But I don't even blink.

"Eleanor—"

"No, Harold."

I close my eyes and pretend to sleep until they leave me alone.

_April 21, 2006 5:31_

I hear footsteps but I don't open my eyes. I just listen.

There's a sharp breath and the person takes a seat beside me.

"I know you're awake, Waldorf," breathes a low, velvety voice.

I open my eyes and glare at him.

"Wh—why would you—why would you even _think _of doing this to yourself?" he whispers.

I can only look at him but even then tears blocks my vision.

"You're perfect." I almost don't hear him.

I shake my head.

He stands up abruptly, grabbing his hair.

"_DAMMIT, BLAIR! Why can't you see it? Why can't you see that you're beautiful?"_

I cough and open my mouth but it's dry. He hands me a cup and places the straw in between my lips.

I drink and close my eyes.

He takes back the cup and looks at me.

"I'm not," is all I can manage to say.

I look at the wall behind him.

I am not beautiful.

I am not strong.

I am ashamed.

But I'm skinny.

"Where's Nate?" I ask.

His face drops and I swear he looks sad for a moment.

"He's with Serena."

I can't speak again.

"They went down to—well—I don't know where. They just…left."

And I lay there and cry silently and he looks out the window.

"Never do that again," he murmurs.

But I can't make any promises.

_April 29, 2006 10:22AM_

I'm finally leaving.

Mother is in Venice.

Daddy has left on a business trip to France.

They say it's important.

Nate has gone to the Hamptons.

He says he needs time.

Serena has gone to the Hamptons, too.

She says she needs a break.

But I know.

I know where they are going.

And I think that they know that I know.

They know that I know where they are going.

What they are going to do.

But they don't care.

Everyone has left.

It's just me.

I am alone.

I will always be alone.

No one wants a girl that starves herself.

That throws up.

On purpose.

That takes pride in it.

No one wants a fat girl.

But no, they don't want a skinny one either.

Or at least not one like me.

_April 29, 2006 11:43AM_

There is a knock at the door.

Before I can answer, it swings open.

_He's_ there, dressed in a suit with a bag in his hands.

He puts it on my bed.

"Time to get dressed. I'm taking you home."

I nod. He helps me out of bed and I stumble, grabbing his shoulder. He pulls me close.

"I've got you."

"I'm shivering and unbalanced and the whole way to the bathroom, I am holding onto him for dear life.

And maybe he is all I have right now.

He tells me to take off my gown but I shake my head.

"_Blair_," he hisses. "Take it off, it's just me."

I am hesitant.

"I'm hideous."

He unties the string at the back of my neck and I let my arms drop as the gown falls to the floor.

I try to cover my chest and turn away but he pulls me into him.

His eyes are soft.

Not hard.

Not cold.

He turns me around, holding my back to his chest. He points to a mirror.

"Look."

I stare at the reflection.

Ribs show through her torso.

Bones pop out of her neck.

Her thighs are small and her legs are scrawny.

Her arms are bony.

Her cheek bones are too in-your-face.

Her lips are pale.

Her hair is stringy.

She is ugly.

Skinny.

Ugly.

Worthless.

But he presses his lips to my neck and they burn into my skin.

"That girl in the mirror is the most beautiful girl in the world."

I stand still. Staring.

"She is perfect."

And the sensation of his lips is no more.

But I swear the feeling is forever burned there.

He helps me dress and the whole time I don't dare to look again.

As we walk out of the hospital, he places his arm around my waist.

I take in his scent.

I take in every aspect of him.

And I slip into his limo and we speed off into the streets of Manhattan.

And the whole time he is whispering sweet nothings into my ear and for once I believe him.

Because he is Chuck Bass.

And I am Blair Waldorf.

We are Chuck and Blair; Blair and Chuck.

And we are unstoppable.

And I am beautiful.


End file.
